


Act II: Under the Thunder

by Burgie, ClaraDiamondsong, clightlee, copperheadpony, eyeskillercold, NumiTuziNeru, Shadowlord13, SwimmingTiger, willownorthbook, ZDusk, Zebrablanket



Series: SSO Wild West Novella [1]
Category: Star Stable
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-03-28 17:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13909176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burgie/pseuds/Burgie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraDiamondsong/pseuds/ClaraDiamondsong, https://archiveofourown.org/users/clightlee/pseuds/clightlee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperheadpony/pseuds/copperheadpony, https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeskillercold/pseuds/eyeskillercold, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NumiTuziNeru/pseuds/NumiTuziNeru, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowlord13/pseuds/Shadowlord13, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwimmingTiger/pseuds/SwimmingTiger, https://archiveofourown.org/users/willownorthbook/pseuds/willownorthbook, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZDusk/pseuds/ZDusk, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zebrablanket/pseuds/Zebrablanket
Summary: Welcome to the continued adventures of the SSO Wild West AU megastory! Our heroes and villains all know their roles in in fight over New Jorvik. Those with AO3 accounts are listed as co-creators; those without 'em, are listed below:Allison Nightstar- a-lonely-star-gazer on tumblrCrystal Bluenight- miikahima on tumblrDorian Wolf- rebecawolfforest on tumblrEden Dawnvalley- sso-eden-dawnvalley on tumblrIzabella Snowbell- dizzy-izzy-sso on tumblr





	1. In which the storm gathers

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters will be given trigger warnings as applicable.

Overnight, a massive thunderhead began building over the Western mountains. Its brooding purple underside stifled the rising sun. From down on the plain of New Jorvik, the townsfolk could see lightning licking the mountaintops. This was peculiar; everyone knew that thunderstorms only brewed in the heat of the day.

...

Ronja caught a few hours of sleep on the cushioned seats in the mayor’s gazebo- he’d skipped town, and wouldn’t be using it- and then put herself to a difficult task: making herself look like a lady.

Ronja had a hazy idea of what this entailed, what with her keeping regular truck with Madam Miranda, Miss Zoe, Miss Carina, and the other charitable ladies of New Jorvik. She was rather lacking in firsthand experience of doing her hair and keeping a pinafore tidy, so she improvised. First: pilfering a block of strong lye soap from the washroom at the smithy. It made her eyes water as she lathered her hair in Mayor Skoll’s birdbath, but by the time she’d finally rinsed the last of the bubbles from her hair, face, and torso in the goldfish pond she felt clean as a whistle. Next, clothing: while her allies in town took in her stockings to wash for free, Ronja only had the one dress, the one overcoat. _Hmm._

The solution presented itself in the form of a buffalo robe, tucked in a trunk in the back of Mayor Skoll’s carriage house. He’d left it behind when he fled, on account of the coming spring. _That,_ Ronja thought, _is his loss._ She shucked out of her dress and coat, pulled the huge, pungent robe around herself, and knotted a belt out of some baling twine to finish off the ensemble. _Now all I need is a washboard._

She set off through the dark streets, the robe dragging in the dusty road behind her. But wash was the last thing one anyone’s mind, particularly at that late hour. Ronja found half a Vidalia onion (delicious), a rusty kazoo (diverting), and a crumpled telegram (probably interesting, but reading small print was not her forte). She pocketed them all and, deciding to try her luck with Bluenight’s giant trough sink the next morning, curled up on their back porch beneath a dilapidated porch swing. The sighing of the wind through the old warehouse’s beams sang her to sleep.

She awoke to a scream.

“Whuh?” Ronja raised her head from the hairy brown topography of the robe to see Crystal Bluenight staring at her in horror.

“B…bear? Bear…ronja?”

Ronja thrust the bundle of dirty clothes towards Crystal. “Need to wash these, for our ruse,” she mumbled.

Crystal fanned herself with a hand. “You scared me half to death, Ronja! You know you could have just asked to borrow a dress of mine?” Crystal didn’t have too many spare dresses, but she did have them. “Anyway, I was just coming out to take in all the saloon signs- Grandfather’s finally agreed to lay low until all this passes. We’re in debt to Kembell up to our eyeballs, and I finally convinced him that Dark Corps wouldn’t be any kinder. Might as well get out while he can, yeah?” Ronja noticed for the first time that Crystal had dark half-moons under her eyes. It must have been quite the feat of rhetoric to convince old Caspar to take the safe road.

“Where’ll he go?” asked Ronja, rising with her robe.

“He’ll be leaving on the three thirty express to New Stockholm. The one that’ll have dropped off the Rangers,” she explained. “It took all the cash in the till, plus most of my tip money, to buy the ticket, and even then he wouldn’t cooperate until I promised him I’d stay here, hold down the fort.” Her shoulders slumped. “Grandfather’s in his eighties. He’s not in good health and cares far too much about this stupid bar.” Then Crystal’s jaw hardened. “But if I’ll ever get a chance to prove that Bluenights are worth something, this is it. C’mon, let’s heat some water for wash. I need to get Grandfather’s travelling suit pressed, anyway.”

…

 

As soon as the first rooster thought about crowing, Freja was awake, bolt-upright and ready despite her whiskey-driven cottonmouth. She dressed in her most rugged shooting clothes, brushed her hair into its normal no-nonsense bun, and was giving a series of dirks she’d made for practice years ago fighting edges when the bell to the smithy tinkled.

Customers? At four o’clock in the morning? Conrad and Jamie were both gone on whatever errands they had- Conrad to save his stash of Jorvegian metals, Jamie to help Miranda prepare for the worst, though he’d be back soon. Freja removed her thick leather gloves and pulled the sliding barn door open to reveal:

“Oh! Hello!”

Linda Chandler, the town’s top lawyer, was standing in the dooryard. Even though she clearly hadn’t slept last night- her spectacles were askew, her normally flawless updo was straggling a few loose tendrils- the sight of her, as usual, took Roo’s breath away. Roo had had an abiding crush on Linda ever since she’d returned from law school back East to set up practice last year. In the months since, she’d proven herself to be far and away the most competent attorney New Jorvik had ever seen, and much of that had to do with her devotion to complete, unending research.

“Up late looking through Kembell’s paper trail?” Roo offered, weakly.

Linda nodded, too polite to comment on the booze on Roo’s breath. “If things ever calm down enough to push this through to trial, I’ll have their sorry hides,” she replied with a wan smile. “But that’s not my foremost worry right now. I’m concerned that Kembell’s successors will try and apprehend me, whether by force or by simply destroying my evidence. Either way, I need a way to defend myself.”

Roo shook her head quickly to clear it; she’d been overtly staring at Linda’s beautiful deep-green dress, the way it set off the warm tones of her skin, the way her eyes kept blinking shut for just a moment too long. Thankfully, Linda seemed too tired to notice.

“I’ll give you all the weapons you need if you promise to get some sleep,” Roo said. “I emptied out most of our stock last night for the team protecting the town, but I’ve got a few good things hidden away.” This was a lie; she’d emptied out _all_ the stock last night, not only to the sheriff-sponsored vigilantes but also to every citizen who’d come to her scared stiff and wanting to arm themselves with the cold comfort of cold steel. Roo had, however, a fairly large private armory, and this is what she raided in the back room to bring a .22 and a couple hunting knives out to Linda.

“Keep them handy. Do you know how to shoot?”

“My dad used to take me pheasant hunting when I was a girl, so I know the basics.”

“Good.” Roo also handed her the dirk she’d been sharpening. “Do you have room in those fancy boots for a last resort dagger?”

Linda grimaced. “I’ll make it work.”

“Well, lay low and you won’t have to use them,” Roo said brusquely, suddenly feeling abashed at her flirting. She didn’t even know if Linda knew her name; she was, after all, just a lowly gunsmith, and only a journeyman at that.

 Linda blessed her with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Freja! I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

Freja’s heart skipped a beat. “You can start by calling me Roo,” she managed. “Everyone does.”

…

The bounty hunters (unassured of an actual bounty) rendezvoused at the Northern edge of town at first light. 

Clara got there first. Her skills had been previously used in ordinary banditry- robbery, intimidation, a bit of light gunplay- and she was slightly nervous about her first manhunting gig. Jacqueline, Carina, and Esmeralda were professional snoops, trackers, and hunters. She hoped that her quick wits and quicker trigger finger would make up for her lack of experience.

Esmeralda, Jacqueline, and Carina trotted up within moments of each other. The women looked at each other for a moment, sizing up.

“Well. I have a botanical clue, but y’all found the body,” Carina began. “Where’re we heading?” She eyed the thunderclouds grudgingly; that was clearly their destination.

“Let’s timeline it,” Esmeralda said with confidence. She leapt from her saddle, squatted in the dusty road, and used a finger to sketch the outline of New Jorvik county. A squiggly line became the tops of the Silvers; swoosh became the Big Silversong, and parallel finger tracks became the North Sea Line railroad. She tossed a few rocks together to mark out New Jorvik city. “The grubby urchin girl, at the smithy, saw the body heading Northeast, towards the Rogue’s Gallery, here. On their way out of town, the librarian’s secret admirer dropped a plant off here-” she put an x on the cottage- “which came from…?”

Carina jumped down and dotted a line around the lower half of the mountains with a finger. “Here. So this makes it look like they both came and went from somewhere in the Western Silvers.”

“We’ll be able to pick up their track from the foot of the Rogues’ pass,” Jacqueline stated impatiently. “But the track goes colder every minute we waste squatting.”

Carina and Esmeralda exchanged dubious looks, but jumped back astride their horses anyway, and set out at a rocking-chair lope for the distant hills.

…

The hired guns, meanwhile, were gathering in the town square. They were mounted, armed, and unsmiling. Each had a different reason not to smile: Zelda was concerned about Justin, a sitting duck in one of the most ostentatious homes in the city. Roo was concerned about both the smithy and Linda, and kicking herself both for being too bold and for not being bold enough _(“if we both survive this mess, come have dinner with me.” It would have been as simple as that, Freja!)._ Izabella was concerned for her lady outlaws, and Allison was concerned with just who from her past would get off the three o’clock train. Sitting still in the light of day in the center of a frantically bustling town was not her typical modus operandi; not since she was drummed out of the Rangers.

Dorian strode out of the station to address the four gunwomen. “The rest of us will attempt to behave as if nothing is afoot,” he assured them. “Until the three o’clock train, take a ride around. Pick a partner and stick to them- if there’s trouble, I don’t want any of you going it alone. From the sound of it, when our attackers come, they’ll make no secret of it.”

Izabella and Zelda rode South down Main street, trying not to act chummy. Roo and Allison glanced at each other, then pointed Midnight and Logan towards the North.

Miranda swept out of The Calico- once again dressed in her most dramatic ensemble- to stand next to Dorian. Only the fine line between her brows (and numerous protruding hilts, if you knew where to look) betrayed her worry. Jack and Willow, looking out their windows and seeing the gathering, hurried to join them.

“Oh, I _do_ hope they’ll all be okay,” Willow said anxiously, twisting a hank of her dress. “I hardly know what to think about all this.” _Lies._ Her signal lantern last night had yielded a response. The first of the Corps would be here before supper.

“Wishing you’d stayed back on the island?” Jack asked with a cocked eyebrow. Willow’s pride at being a native Old Jorvegian was well-known; almost as much as her sweet nature.

Willow pushed down an annoyed face and smiled instead. “Oh, these things happen there too, sometimes. I know that the grass isn’t greener.”

Louisa and Hal hesitantly came to join them, dressed sharply. “Please direct us to the nearest personage in need of convincing. Of something!” Hal tried to sound jocular, but he came off just as stressed as he felt.

“I miss my horse,” Louisa muttered.

“In time-” Dorian began, but then stopped cold.

Coming down the street, arm in arm, were Crystal, Zoe, and Eden, along with-

“Ronja?” Miranda asked, flabbergasted.

The four young ladies stopped in front of Dorian’s office. “At your service,” Ronja said. Then she waggled her eyebrows, to make sure nobody actually thought she was serious about neatly braided hair, a reasonably clean pinafore, and the company of well-kept ladies.

“Since school’s closed until order is restored, but you _insist_ on keeping us out of the fray,” announced Zoe, “we’re going to be holding an advanced seminar in the schoolhouse. Until the gunfight starts that is. Then we’ll duck and cover.”

Jack gave Eden a sidelong smile as if to say, _No._ Eden grinned back at him without guile.

“It’s true!” piped Crystal. “I’ll be going through Miss Zoe’s most advanced mathematics texts, to better my accounting skills. Eden’s going to be studying biological and anatomical texts, borrowed from Doctor Peterson, to improve her veterinary knowledge. And Ronja’s doing a remedial English course, to make up for the years of school she’s missed.”

“And you’ll stay in the schoolhouse and Miss Zoe’s until this clears?” Dorian asked, dubious.

“Don’t worry about us,” Eden assured him.

And the four girls waltzed off to the schoolhouse, the calmest faces in New Jorvik.

“They’re up to something,” Dorian announced.

“You think?” Miranda gave a snort that was somehow ladylike.

Jack gave a shrug. “Let them go. Miss Zoe could outshoot me any day. Eden’s one of the best horsewomen in the county. And I would never underestimate either Crystal or Ronja- they’ve seen more hardships in their teenage years than I’ve seen in all of mine. We’ve got bigger problems than young ladies on an adventure.”

“I can talk to them,” Willow offered. “at least get an idea of what they’re planning.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Dorian said. “I’m just going to trust them to keep a low profile. Does it look like that storm's moving this way? Anyway,  let’s talk strategy…”


	2. In which RUN!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bounty hunters become the hunted; the schoolhouse girls plot their escape; the New Jorvik Rangers arrive on the scene and things escalate quickly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Passing mention of guns, but no violence thereof. Warning, this chapter contains a villainous monologue! tl;dr version: yer doomed

The bounty hunters had reached the foot of the pass, following the broad and trampled trail as outlined by Esmeralda and Carina. From there they’d taken a short detour into the Rogues’ Gallery- nothing but smouldering ashes where the wooden structures had been, but the livestock, thoughtfully stampeded elsewhere during the melee, were starting to return- and proceeded on to the West.

“It’s like they weren’t even trying to disguise their trail,” complained Jacqueline. “So first they ride down and take out Kembell somewhere to the South of town-”

“Goldspur ranch,” Carina elucidated.

“-and bring his body, on a wagon (because they couldn’t _possibly_ foul their fancy dungarees with corpse juice) past town. They ride up to the Gallery pass, dump Kembell, and finish making a big rectangle by riding back to their _lair._ ” Jacqueline wriggled her fingers for dramatic effect. “Next they hitch up an insane rapid-fire gun, and ride _back_ to the Gallery along the same path they took after dumping Kembell. Then, seemingly, retrace their steps back to their lair.” Wriggling fingers again.

Clara and Esmeralda were a bit dumbfounded, never having heard the quiet thief say so much in one sitting.

“And by the looks of it, the rest of the outlaws came quietly after the firefight,” Esmeralda added. “There wasn’t so much as a downed pigeon up there.”

“So they’re kidnapping horses and criminals to do their dirty deeds,” muttered Clara. She still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of Willow’s proposal; she had a creeping suspicion that her employer was one of the Dark Corps headmen. But she wasn’t sure whether to admire or abhor mass kidnapping.

“The real question,” Esmeralda posed, “is why they’re just trampling out this highway for us to follow. It’s almost like-”

Clara’s mind snapped back to the steaming cup of chamomile tea.

“They want us to follow them!” she cried. “They’re expecting us.” Handsome rewards or no, she was not walking into an ambush this early in the game.

Carina, who’d been at the front of the line, pulled Bri up short. “That means there’s a trap along here somewhere, if we haven’t already walked into it.” She turned swiftly, scanning the ridgelines and rockstacks surrounding them. “Lots of places to hide.”

“So what do we do, librarian?” Esmeralda asked, with a sarcastic edge.

Carina raised on eyebrow but remained composed. “We go where they can’t follow.” She jerked her chin towards the meandering ribbon of cottonwoods down in the ravine to their left. They shielded the Big Silversong river. “Your horses can swim, right?”

…

New Jorvik was holding its breath, waiting for the onslaught. In the schoolhouse, Eden, Zoe, Ronja, and Crystal were packing saddlebags for a long and remote journey. They’d also pulled riding pants and boots on under their dresses. Their horses were saddled and pastured just outside the back door.

Ronja watched Izabella and Zelda trot by in the field beyond the edge of town, on patrol. “We have a half hour before anyone’ll be back. Can we go?” She was bouncing and tugging at her starchy dress, chafing at confinement.

“Not til the Rangers have come,” Eden cautioned her. “I need to make sure Alonso’s not with them. Or if he is, that he knows who to trust.”

It was a well-known fact that Alonso and Eden were sweethearts, though the former had gone off to seek his fortune with the Rangers a year ago. Eden had heard the rumors that nowadays, the Rangers were little more than mercenaries- ignoring the laws they were supposed to uphold, shooting first, asking questions never. But she’d known Alonso for years, and knew that he was just about as pure of heart as they come. The few letters she’d received from him were short and tended to say more about how much he missed her than the inner workings of the paramilitary force. She had no idea whether or not she wanted him to come riding off that three o‘clock train or not.

Zoe was fiddling with the sight on her rifle. “Any minute now…”

 ** _WOOOoooooooooooooooOOOOOOooooo!_ ** A train whistle came sidling down the tracks into New Jorvik.

“Go,” Zoe said to Esmeralda, gently. “We’ll be ready to run when you get back.”

“And be safe,” Crystal added.

…

At the depot on the Southern edge of town, Allison sat mounted at the front of the crowd, nervously twisting her reins around her hands. She’d argued that having her front and center might be the difference between forming a solid working relationship with the Rangers and a riot, but Dorian had insisted. They’d even devised a code: if Allison recognized anyone in the pay of Dark Corps among the Rangers, she’d pass Dorian her bright gold handkerchief.

Eden trotted up, sticking to the sidelines. She didn’t want to be a distraction to Alonso should he arrive, and should something bad occur.

The engine was huffing and breathing like a winded horse as it slowly ground to a halt. A moment passed, then a brakeman leapt to the ground, ran to the number-three boxcar, and slid aside its heavy door to let ten New Jorvik Rangers on horseback out into the sun.

The first three to jump down were new to Allison; the fourth, the leader, made her blood run cold.

 _Marshal Sabine._ While Sabine hadn’t been one of the Rangers in Allison’s battalion, she had sat on the panel for the court martial that had stripped Allison of her rank and titles. Insubordination and attempted insurrection; that was the crime listed on Allison’s record, and the reason she lit out for the hill country as soon as the humiliating discharge ceremony was over.

Sabine was definitely a Dark Corps lackey. Allison would eat her hat if it wasn’t true.

Sabine, however, didn’t seem to even notice Allison. She strutted by on her roach-maned horse looking imperious, and Allison was able to slip Dorian the bandana in secrecy. Dorian then tapped Iceace’s sides and trotted away to confer with the Marshal. Allison followed.

 _Eight, nine…_ Eden’s fingernails bit into her palms. _Would ten be…?_

Alonso! Bringing up the rear of the Ranger procession, Alonso was giving Mardy a reassuring pat on the neck as she took the steep jump down from the boxcar. Eden’s heart swelled. She could hardly wait for him to see her, to-

“Allison!” Alonso waved, massive, charming grin flashing, to the former Ranger, who, for her part, had been trying to blend into the crowd.

Allison returned his smile, grudgingly yet with sincerity. New Jorvik Ranger cadets were barracked in strict alphabetical order, and she and Alonso had eaten, slept, trained, breathed, cursed, and sweated within a few feet of each other for all of basic training, once upon a time. Of course that had been a few years ago, and their assignments had been wildly divergent ever since. In fact, they hadn’t seen each other for two years.

Allison reined Cochise in step with Mardy. “Heard you had a rough hearing. I’m sorry,” Alonso said apologetically. “I’d have spoken as a character witness for you, but I was on assignment in Texas and didn’t even get wind of it until after your discharge.”

Allison waved his apologies away. “Don’t worry about it. Happier out here anyway. No stupid uniforms,” she quipped. “I’m just surprised you’re still a part of… of all this. The way things have been going.” The look they exchanged confirmed that Alonso knew the extent of corruption that had forced Allison out. He was no innocent, at least where the Rangers and Dark Corps were concerned.

He sighed. “I shouldn’t be talking about this in public, but I’m six months away from finishing my tour of duty. I can get out of the force after that, with a Ranger’s pension, and do what I’ve always planned on doing.” Allison knew well that Alonso dreamed of settling down and operating a ranch with his sweetheart of many years, the proverbial rancher’s daughter. Eve? Something like that. “I almost rejected the offer to come out and patrol my old stomping grounds, but I had to make sure that Eden and her family came out of this okay. Troubling rumors,” he finished.

Eden! That was it. “The barmaid?” Allison asked, slightly incredulous.

“So you’ve met her!” Alonso beamed. Then his face turned serious. “Tell me, how bad is it?”

Allison shook her head. “Too early to tell. But with Marshal Sabine leading the charge…”

Alonso shivered. “Keep your head down, but stay close. She doesn’t have a merciful bone in her body.”

Far on the periphery of the crowd, Eden followed them from a distance, heart beating fast.

…

Dorian’s office was once more too small for the party of Rangers, townsfolk, and vigilantes, so Dorian slipped Jack a fifty and arranged the tables in the bar in a rough oval. Soon the tables were filled and Dorian pounded the butt of his revolver against the bar for order (Jack winced and readied his polishing rag and wax). He then surrendered his gun to Jack, who had collected all arms in a few of his empty kegs behind the bar- a sign of peace and cooperation.

“Welcome, Marshal Sabine. Rangers,” Dorian nodded all around the table. “We’re grateful that you’re here to help us find the killer of Mr. Rutherford Kembell, take legal action against the companies grifting our citizens, and regain our missing livestock.”

Sabine laughed. Cruelly.

“Cute,” she said, “but no cigar.”

The whole of New Jorvik city had a sharp intake of breath.

“Sheriff, your official report says that a group of outlaws turned in the body,” Sabine began, acidly. “Doesn’t that strike you as a little… shady?”

Dorian started to answer, but Sabine kept right on talking over him.

“As for your beleaguered townsfolk and lost horses, the answer’s clear,” she continued. “These people are clearly subversives. They’re trying to take advantage of the honest, American-bred companies out here just trying to turn a profit and grow our economy.” She spoke louder. “And we New Jorvik Rangers are here to ensure that the rule of law is restored in this town so we can return to business as usual.”

“What about our land?” Hal asked from Dorian’s right side, trying to keep his voice even.

“What about it?” asked Sabine, eyes big in mock concern.

“Dark Corps has threatened to seize it and retain exclusive rights to its use,” Hal responded. “This is land that we’ve worked for generations to develop, our only source of income. Kembell’s methods of gaining access to it were highly suspect.”

Sabine nodded knowingly. “Any contract disputes can be brought to the territorial court in New Stockholm,” she said flatly. “It’s not the Rangers’ duty to dither over legal wording. If your claim is valid, the courts will order Dark Corps to cease and desist. Until you bring such an order, it is our prerogative to allow the mining company to proceed with its work taming the West.”

“What about the missing horses?” Louisa asked, for the umpteenth time.

“Isn’t it obvious? Your precious outlaws, here in our midst, are conning all of you into blaming Dark Corps for your problems when really it’s _them_ stealing your herds and killing your neighbors.” Sabine turned terrifying blue eyes on Allison and Izabella, who’d been lurking in the shadows. “In fact, I spy two wanted criminals right here, right now. Harald? Lars?” Two burly Rangers who’d been guarding the door were suddenly seizing the two outlaws, pinning them against the bar’s wall in chokeholds. The onlookers cringed, but all were silent; nobody was armed, and the law was most definitely against them.

“There’s no need to get physical,” Dorian said, standing and making calming motions with his hands. “The ladies are crucial witnesses-”

Sabine turned her icy gaze on him. “I’m beginning to feel that this whole town, lock, stock, and barrel, is trying to pull a fast one on us. And you, sheriff Wolf, are the worst of it… harbouring reprobates, impeding justice… I’m glad that our reinforcements from Dark Corps are on their way, or I’d fear we’d be faced with a rebellion! Martial law’s just one misstep away, sheriff.”

The truth dawned on Dorian and the others privy to the details of Kembell’s demise. Dark Corps was the law, and they’d be here in a few hours. Dorian, usually mild-mannered, was driven to a rare curse.

He remained standing and growled, “Not in my fucking town.” 

And all hell broke loose.


	3. In which all hell has broken loose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marshal Sabine wins the upper hand, and Dorian must make a difficult choice. The bounty hunters discover that their prey is much closer than they thought. Eden and Alonso finally rendezvous, but in the Wild West love might just be a weakness. TW for an explosion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who have kept reading this far! TW for an explosion and injuries!

The bounty hunters had made a beeline for the river, using a worn deerpath to cover their tracks. Once they were splashing through the shallows, leaving no physical or audible trail, all of them breathed easier.

“So the path the villains left would have to follow the general course of the river, since they’d need a water source to feed their forces,” Clara was reasoning.

Esmeralda nodded. “Right. We’ll be reaching some falls soon, and will have to break trail. But that’s still better than riding straight into their arms with no cover.”

“In any case, they’re looking far more intimidating than just a ragtag band of thugs,” Jacqueline added. “The group that attacked the Gallery must have been only a fraction of them.”

“Can you describe the attackers?” Carina asked.

 “The ones that stood out were the leader, this overdramatic fop with hair like fire and brimstone,” Jacqueline began. Esmeralda made a sour face, but as she was riding sweep nobody could’ve seen.

“And his two deputies looked like an older, pickle-faced cowboy and a bearded guy in a crazy poncho.”

“Ugh. I knew it,” Carina said in disgust. “Poncho’s real identity is Nic Stoneground, previously of the New Jorvik Geological Survey but now somewhat of a mercenary scientist. I can’t believe he’d throw in his lot with Dark Corps.”

“Is he who left you the _flow-_ ers?” Clara asked in a singsong voice.

“Yeah, which makes me question his motives even more,” Carina said darkly.

“How about the creepy-handsome ringleader?” blurted Esmeralda from the back. “I got the impression that they broke the mold when they made him. Did your geologist beau mention anything about him? Last time you trysted in the stacks?”

“Don’t make me come back there,” Carina barked, but the mischievous grin splitting her face made it clear she was amused. “He did mention something about corresponding with a Mr. Darko. Slovenian or something. Anyway, he’s definitely our top suspect- Nic described him as being Dark Corps’ favorite hitman.”

“Intriguing,” Esmeralda commented.

“So it’s Nic now?” Jacqueline jibed.

“Listen!” Clara held up a hand for silence.

The riders froze. They could hear the water babbling and rushing away around their feet, and the soughing of cottonwood and pine boughs above them. Then- a stone, in the distance above them, clattered down the ravine.

Someone was passing them, up on the trail. They were hidden by the trees, but that also meant they couldn’t see the high ridge.

All ears strained to hear more over the rushing river- they’d been so grateful for its noise covering their movements, but now…

Another stone rattled down the hill, and a voice came wafting faintly down the escarpment:

“Oh cowgirls! Come out, come out wherever you are!”

…

All hell, as we saw, had broken loose.

Nobody had a gun. This being New Jorvik, however, a fairly rough and ready domicile, everyone had at least one knife. It became a Donnybrook, a free-for-all, a dust-up.

Jack, thankfully, was prepared. His cellars featured a hatch behind the bar, and he pushed the kegs of firearms down and away with a vicious clatter and bang. He wore the only cellar key around his neck; he snagged Halli and dived into the cellar, locking it behind him. Whatever damage they were doing up there to his bar couldn’t be that bad without guns.

Could it?

Hearing the shouting from down the street, Zoe, Crystal, and Ronja leapt into their saddles. Eden sped up to them on Genesis.

“This is our chance!” Crystal cried, heart pounding. “Eden, let’s go!”

“Alonso’s in there,” Eden shouted. “I can’t leave him. Not without telling him what we know.”

“Then meet us in Goldspur’s Arroyo tonight,” Zoe said calmly. “We’ll make camp, but no fire.”

Eden nodded, already backing Genesis. “Do you think we can lend them a hand before we go?”

Zoe, Ronja, and Crystal exchanged looks. Only Ronja wasn’t there. She was already crawling beneath the hitching rail outside Jack’s untying the Rangers’ horses and urging them, with windmill arms, to head for the hills. She ducked to dodge a broken bottle flying from the bar’s doorway, and flashed the other girls a toothy smile.

“She’s so _good,_ ” Crystal whispered.

A few Rangers were now stumbling from the bar, shouting after their horses (and the saddlebags that carried their spare guns). Townsfolk were crowding after them, throwing punches and struggling to the ground. Just inside, Izabella was holding her erstwhile captor at knifepoint; Allison had somehow knocked hers to the ground. Ronja had melted into the shadows and was back on Night before anyone could tell where she’d gone.

“This is chaos, let’s ride,” Zoe said tersely. She had half a mind to throw a kerosene-dipped hanky through one of the bar’s windows, but Jack was a friend. She’d keep her incendiary tricks up her sleeve, for later.

“Catch you tonight!” Eden called after them, and then raced after Mardy, who was halfway to the banks of the Big Silversong.

 

…

 

Things were going fine until Marshal Sabine managed to get free of Roo and Willow’s blows. In fact, it was almost as if Willow choked at just the wrong moment; though Roo knew she was a deadly hand with a knife, and a tough one to boot, Willow swooned right there on the floor of the bar, letting Sabine slide from her grasp. Sabine grabbed something mechanical from her pocket, pounded it against the floor, and curled her body away from the blast.

With a mighty roar that blew the glass from the windows, the device exploded

A minute of silence, as everyone picked themselves up and recovered their sense of hearing, followed. Dorian, who’d been holding off two Rangers at once, shook his head rapidly to clear it and, picking his way over stunned fighters, made it to the doorframe, clacked through. He leaned heavily on a post on the porch, breathing the relatively sweet outdoor air and-

He noticed Marshal Sabine, just a few posts down, leaning nonchalantly and gazing North.

She spoke without turning to look at him. “See that dust cloud?” she asked.

Dorian squinted into the distance; sure enough, a cloud had made its way down from the Silvers and was crawling at an alarming rate across the plain towards them.

“You’ve got two choices, Sheriff,” she said, with a bored edge to her voice. “Stick around and wait for my army, or tell your rebels to scatter.” She turned to him with a terrifying smile. “It’ll delay our usurpation, if you will, but the hunting’s sure fun.”

Dorian straightened and met her eyes. He silently weighed his options at the speed of lightning. A distant crackle of thunder interrupted him, and he made a flash decision.

He calmly tipped his hat to the Marshal. “Evenin’ ma’am,” he said, and calmly swung back into Jack’s.

…

“Alonso!”

The young Ranger whirled to see Eden leading Mardy towards him at a trot.

“Eden!” He ran to the horses and rider, and was ready when she launched herself into his arms.

“How did you get out?” Eden voice was muffled against his chest.

Alonso rested a stubbly cheek on the top of her head. “A window. Sabine threw one of her horrible sound bombs but I saw her readying it, and was prepared.” He sighed deeply, ruffling Eden’s hair. “This is so much worse than I thought.”

Eden suddenly pushed him away to hold him at arm’s length. Her eyes were dancing with excitement. “Come away with us!” she exclaimed. “I’m meeting some other girls from town up at one of Kembell’s mining sites. We’re going to find the horses they’ve been stealing! And you’d be-”

Alonso wordlessly shook his head.

“And you’d be safe from all this fighting-”

“Eden, I can’t desert my post,” he sighed, suddenly sounding a decade older. “I’d face the noose if they ever caught me. We can’t start our life together with one of us a wanted man and the other,” he smiled slightly, “a burgeoning horse thief.”

Eden let her arms fall to her sides. “So you’ll just… stay here and pretend to do the Rangers’ will?” she asked, weakly.

“What choice do I have?” Alonso sighed. “If it were just this battalion, New Jorvik could beat us any day. But you’ve got to run- the men who are coming have automatic weapons, a hundred men or more. The town doesn’t stand a chance.”

Eden’s jaw hardened. “Fine. I’ll run. But don’t think we’re gone for good. When we return,” she grabbed his hands and squeezed, “You’ll be in a position to help us take down the occupation from within.”

Alonso, quite suddenly, swept Eden into a kiss that momentarily made her forget everything that had transpired in the last few days. A grumble of thunder from across the plains brought her back with a sickening shock.

“I need to get back there, make it look like I got stunned with the rest of them,” Alonso said regretfully.

Eden couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him so soon. “I’ll stay long enough to make sure that Jack and the rest are okay. I’m not due at the camp ‘til tonight.”

“All right, but remember, we can’t let the Rangers know that we’re-” Alonso smiled innocently- “you know. If they know I have a weakness here, I don’t want to find out what they’d make me do.”

…

Meanwhile, Dorian had swept into the groaning, bleeding mass of people just coming to in the bar. His mind flew through the groups he’d made last night. He knew he only had moments to act. Izabella and Allison were just inside.

 _Get the Wanted ones out of here first._ Dorian knew how easily Sabine had laid the blame on the outlaws. He wanted them nowhere near here when the army swept through.

Dorian shook both of them awake. “You two need to run,” he said gently. Izabella stirred; Allison was out cold. “Izabella!” The outlaw leader blinked blearily, and propped herself up on an elbow, looking around. When the scene of the carnage hit her, she was on her feet, reaching for a gun that wasn’t there.

“Get Allison and whoever else the Rangers are going to target,” Dorian instructed her quickly. “Ride somewhere safe, lie low until you’re healed.” Izabella opened her mouth to argue, but then, thinking better of it, slid over to where Zelda was groaning quietly and cradling her head in her hands. After some whispered words, the two women stumbled to Allison and had her pulled through the doors towards their horses in no time.

 _Roo, Hal, Louisa_ … none of them would be likely targets for the wrath of the Marshal, but they _had_ been fighting. As more and more people started rising, still disoriented, Dorian found the three and shepherded them out the back door. Now who? Jack was safe in his Prohibition hole, Miranda in her Calico. He saw Willow scampering off towards her store, apparently unscathed.

 _Now you, old friend._ Dorian caught sight of his reflection in a chunk of broken mirror above the bar. He knew he was signing his own death warrant by staying right here in town instead of running. But when he thought of his sister, his nephew, the hundreds of innocent people that depended on him to dispense justice and safety in equal measures, he couldn’t run.

Dorian shouldered aside a groggy Ranger and paced solemnly across the street. He left the door to the Sheriff’s office propped ajar, turned on the light against the gathering storm. If anyone needed him, they’d know where to find him.


	4. In which some run and some hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the army arrives at the gates of New Jorvik, the bounty hunters divide and conquer, the gunwomen choose their target, the young runaways consider playing with fire, and the folks left in town weave a web to snare their antagonists.

“Shit!” the bounty hunters each scanned their surroundings, seeking a place to hide. Someone was above them on the ridge, and that _someone_ was looking for them.

“Do you recognize the voice?” Carina asked Jacqueline and Esmeralda in a whisper.

“It’s the ringleader, for sure. Darko,” Jacqueline confirmed.

“We should split up,” Clara hissed. “Two of us try to pass them going upriver, follow the trail back to where they came and find the rest of their gang. And two should try and ambush whoever’s with Darko- and capture them.” The day was already oppressively hot beneath the roiling, unseasonable stormclouds, but Clara had broken into a nervous sweat. Looking around, she could tell that the other women had too.

 

“Well the choice is clear,” Esmeralda drawled, feigning nonchalance. “Librarian, it’s time to see if you live up to your claims. We’re going hunting for some real bad men.” Honestly, her pulse raced faster knowing that she was less then a mile from the enigmatic outlaw leader who’d inexplicably held his fire for her.

 

Jacqueline nodded curtly. “I can sneak us past, no problem. Clara? Let’s find the waterfall. I have a plan.”

 

Clara and Jacqueline wheeled Missy and Midnight upriver as quietly as they could manage. The horse’s hooves slowly sloshed away, leaving Esmeralda and Carina with ears straining for sounds out of place.

 

“How many do you think they had with them?” Esmeralda asked in an undertone.

 

“Couldn’t have been more than a handful; they were all but silent,” Carina replied. “But I’m not confident that the two of us could take out all of them, even with surprise on our side. Besides, I think they’re worth more to us as informants than trophies.”

 

“Could you get your scientist beau to talk?” Esmeralda smirked.

Carina made a sour face. “Maybe. I say we climb the ravine on foot, get an eye on their numbers and location, and then-”

“Cut through the boulder field behind them and take up position where they can’t reach us,” Esmeralda proclaimed. “Your horse will come when you signal for him?”

Carina harrumphed. “He’d better.”

Esmeralda slid from her saddle, grabbed her rifle and a bag of ammunition. Carina did likewise, and added her brace of pistols to the armament.

“Might as well be summer, with this heat,” she grumbled.

“If it were summer, we’d have more of a canopy to hide behind,” Esmeralda snapped, motioning to the bare, budding branches that would give them scanty cover.

Carina shrugged. “Better stay low, then,” she retorted.

 

…

 

Hal, Louisa, and Freja raced down the alley behind Jack’s. They heard shouting in the street behind them; people were waking, the Rangers beginning their hunt for their rapidly dispersing foes.

 

Roo motioned for them to clamber up someone’s woodpile, onto a rooftop shielded from the road by a false front. They all slumped against the boards, breathing heavily.

 

“Where do we go?” Hal asked, calmly, smoothly. “My ranch is one of their targets; I can’t go home. Louisa, Doctor Peterson’s…?”

 

Louisa shook her head. “Some of those Rangers got clobbered. They’ll be headed to Lisa as soon as they have a moment to do so. I don’t want to be trapped there when they show up, or implicate Lisa in our plans. Speaking of, what are our plans?”

 

“Well the gunwomen are riding that way as fast as they can,” Hal rumbled, jerking his chin towards the three riders galloping West out of town. Allison, it seemed, had recovered enough to at least keep her seat.

 

“Not all of them,” said Roo with a smile. “Can either of you shoot?”

“My aim’s not the best,” Louisa admitted, “but I know how to use a gun.” She had a hard time seeing things in the distance, even on her best days, even when one shot could mean the difference between life and death.

“I’d rather not, but I’m a fast learner,” Hal grinned.

“Well, even if neither of you is Natty Bumppo, you’ve got the gift of the gab,” Roo conceded. “This roof gives me an idea…”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” said Louisa, with a small smile.

Hal looked back and forth between the two women. “You can’t mean…?”

Louisa nodded under raised eyebrows. “Oh yes. It’s time for some guerrilla warfare.”

 

…

 

Izabella and Zelda had managed to lash Allison into her saddle and were riding hellbent for leather towards the Western hills- the nearest place to get lost.

 

Allison awoke suddenly and found herself bouncing wildly down the dusty road, her companions barely shadows riding before her. Thankfully, her Ranger training took over; she lunged for the reins and drew Cochise up sharply. Zelda and Izabella wheeled to meet her a few lengths back.

“Are we being followed?” Allison asked, gingerly feeling a swelling lump on the back of her head.

“Not yet,” Zelda assured her. Allison noticed that Zelda had a black eye. Izabella had a length of cotton wrapped around one arm, as if to bandage a wound.

“Dorian got us out of Jack’s before the Rangers were fit to pursue,” explained Izabella, “but they’ll be after us before too long.”

Allison looked between the two women; the dust had turned their hair, one normally inky black and the other practically snow white, a uniform grey-brown. “They’re after me for banditry and dishonouring their goon squad. They’re after Izabella for masterminding an outlaw gang. Zelda…?”

Zelda smiled toothily. “Cheating at cards. I made the mistake of winning against an undercover Ranger last year, and they’ve been after me for graft ever since.”

Allison’s head swam. “So where are we headed...? I’m not taking this lying down, so to speak. Those are my enemies back there.”

 

Zelda glanced at Izabella. “We’ve got the team trying to pin Kembell’s murder on Dark Corps. A bunch are back in town, holding down the fort. Those girls in the schoolhouse lit out for the hills- I think they were headed for the dig site at Goldspur’s. What’s left undone?”

 

Izabella squinted towards the roiling storm, making its leisurely way towards New Jorvik.

 

“Night’s coming,” she said slowly. “Seems to me that storm’s riding with Dark Corps’ army. Probably comes from that doom machine they’re toting. I figure if we can take out the machine under the cover of darkness, they’ll be toothless when it comes time to bite.”

 

…

 

When Izabella, Allison, and Zelda had ridden out of town, someone had been watching them from the fourth-floor window of her father’s mansion.

 

This young woman was an opportunist, and, seeing the red-clad gunslinger thundering off towards the distant hills, she hatched a plan. _While the cat’s away…_

 

…

 

Crystal, Zoe, and Ronja found Goldspur’s arroyo as dusk fell. It was hardly dark, though; lightning was capering across the Northern horizon and, from the Southeast, an eerie glow seemed to seep down the valleys to pool in their arroyo.

 

“I’m all for seeing where _that_ is coming from,” Crystal said quietly.

“Suit yourself. But someone needs to wait here in case Eden shows up,” Zoe reminded her.

“Awright. You wait for Eden, we investigate the poison light,” Ronja shrugged

 

Zoe looked around the thin slice in the rock that sheltered them. A weak stream trickled along its floor, pooling at the dead end enough to water the horses. This was the safest place for someone alone in these hills.

“Fine, but be back before full dark. And take this. You might need it.” Zoe drew a cotton rag and a corked bottle from her saddlebag.

 

Ronja caught the bottle and uncorked it with her teeth. She took a whiff inside and made a gruesome face. “Naptha? White spirits?”

 

Zoe nodded. “If they’re strip mining, there’s machinery up there that might need some help shutting down for the day. If you know what I mean.” A flash of lightning lit the white of her smile.

 

…

 

Jack emerged from his cellar when the light under the crack in its door turned grey. Halli leapt out and began snuffling through the wreckage; Jack scooped her up unceremoniously and set her on the bar.

 

“Broken glass,” he explained.

 

But other than the broken glass and some gouged floorboards, the bar had done much better than many of its assailants. Sure, the windows and the gorgeous mirror behind the bar had shattered- it would be months before he could order a new mirror- but a majority of his bottles were still standing and his glasses, wisely kept in heavy wooden cupboards, glinted with invisible dirt as per usual.

 

Jack mechanically plucked a glass from the cupboard and began polishing. In the street he heard yelling, the sound of running feet, the impact of someone being tackled to the ground. Town was dark; the citizens seemed to be cowering in their homes.

 

Jack thought about Ydris and his caravan. It would be all too easy to walk away from the bar, wait on the roadside until the brightly colored wagons rolled up, jump aboard and just keep on going. Ydris would know where to make a clean start- somewhere with no mining, no outlaws, no fucking army of doom…

 

Jack slammed the glass down on the bar. _No._ His best friends were scattered to the winds, hiding in canyons and stalking murderers. He needed to plan, not run.

 

And he’d start by cleaning up the broken glass.

 

…

 

Madam Miranda was loaded for bear.

 

She could hear the rumble of machinery and hooves rumbling past the outskirts, getting nearer and nearer the Calico and the heart of New Jorvik. Though the house of pleasure was twinkling with soft lamplight and its occupants were rouged and powdered to the nines, there was a gun in every bosom and a knife in every stocking.

 

“Are you ready, ladies?” Miranda asked cooly, glancing into the drawing room where her workforce was expertly arrayed.

 

Magdalena smiled demurely and drew a pristine white hanky from a watered silk sleeve. It had, of course, been soaked in chloroform. The sweet smell melded seamlessly into the swirling aromas of orange blossoms, jasmine, and lavender that lingered in the Calico, and could be detected on the stoppers of the house’s many perfume bottles only by someone who was looking for it.

 

“Remember, start slow,” Miranda cautioned them. “And don’t take out their leaders. Yet. We’ve only got enough space down below for half a dozen at a time, but the farrier will be along in the morning to take them on a walkabout.”

 

_**Flash!** _

 

Some of the younger ladies gasped at the sudden blinding burst of light as lightning struck a barbed wire fence just outside of town. Out in the road, the clatter of many hooves came closer and closer, blending with the deafening grumble of thunder.

 

The storm was overhead.

 

The army was there.

 

Miranda, feeling like the eye of the storm in her eerie calm, took a delicate set of silver handcuffs from the pocket of her skirt and lazily twirled them around a finger. The girls’ eyes followed the glinting metal in silence for a moment.

 

“Time to get to work,” she said with a devious smile.


	5. In which some deals are struck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In today's chapter, Willow tries to make Eden an offer she can't refuse. The Lady Outlaws pick their target, Ronja and Crystal make a discovery, Clara and Jacqueline size each other up, and Dorian takes a hostage.

Eden was trapped.

 

She’d waited in the shelter of the livery stable- her erstwhile rendezvous with Alonso- until the stormclouds blotted out the sinking sun and the distant rumble of the army was audible. No Alonso. He was posted somewhere in town, on watch, she was sure, but where-

 

A mounted Ranger- not Alonso- trotted by stiffly, rifle shouldered and alert. Eden held her breath until the Ranger was past, then, giving Genesis one last pat and double checking the latch on her stall, melted into the shadows. She’d try to find someplace safe for the night, someplace she wouldn’t be recognized as the girl who’d been spotted chasing a Ranger’s horse out of town…

 

A hand shot out of the darkness and seized Eden’s arm. She gasped as she was pulled through a backdoor and into- the general store?

 

The back room of Willow’s store was lit by one guttering candle, and the proprietor was deadbolting the door behind them. “What were you thinking out alone tonight?” Willow asked her, tsking gently. Eden let out the breath she’d been holding- Willow was safety. Willow and Eden shared an affinity for the tales of Old Jorvik told in Jack’s, and shared books on the subject from the library: Aideen, atlases of the island, the chronicles of Jon Jarl.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the schoolhouse?” Willow asked under raised eyebrows.

Eden rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you saw us riding out of town during the showdown at Jack’s. I just turned back, to… check on someone.”

Willow nodded knowingly. “Your Ranger sweetie, is it? Well, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. I’ve got an attic you can hide in if the more nefarious types out there-” she gestured to the storm-clad mob now visible on the outskirts of town- “come searching.”

 

“Oh, thank you, really, but I can’t. I’m due…”

Willow’s eyes flashed with an especially strong interest and a prickle ran up Eden’s spine.

“I understand,” Willow was saying. She bustled out into the store, taking the candle and leaving Eden temporarily in darkness. When she returned, she had a sack of provisions- jerky, apples, a loaf of bread- which she proffered innocently.

Eden tried to smooth the nervous clench from her jaw.

“You girls are doing something- I can’t even guess what- but it must be important,” Willow said earnestly. “Take these, and good luck.”

Eden looked down at the bag. Willow had included a bag of chocolate drops, a box of matches, and a jar of peculiarly-colored lamp oil.

“Thank you,” Eden said again, smiling sheepishly at having doubted Willow’s motives. The shopkeeper was a friend; what could she gain from working with Dark Corps, anyway? She turned to leave.

“Before you go,” Willow said offhandedly, “if things really go South here, I’m planning to make my way back home.”

“Home? Oh, of course, Old Jorvik!”

Willow nodded. “I know you’ve always wanted to go. If you want to come with me, you mustn’t tell the schoolmistress or anyone else, though- I only have money for one other. And you’ll need to come right back here, once you’ve dropped off these provisions, and then you can let me know what you young ladies are up to.” She smiled, brilliantly.

 

As Eden rode off towards Goldspur’s Arroyo, chased by stormclouds, Willow went back to grinding at her mortar and pestle. The general store had a small apothecary corner, dispensing only the most basic remedies- anything special could be acquired from the Madam, if you knew how to ask- but Willow wasn’t making medicine for just anybody.

 

The powdered rock in the bottom of the pestle sparked fuchsia

 

…

 

 

Izabella, Allison, and Zelda had ensconced themselves in a stand of scrub oak and were watching the road. For half an hour they’d hunkered in their oilskins and watched a long line of mounted thugs trot by, first from a distance, then within a stone’s throw. The rain came and went in sheets; a huge thunderhead seemed to be hovering at the back of the cavalcade, and the rain beneath it blotted out everything.

 

Zelda’s finger twitched to the holster at her hip, then back into her pocket.

 

Izabella flashed her a look. “We wait for the machine.”

 

Allison was using a telescope left over from her Ranger days to peer down the line. “I can see it, barely,” she intoned. “It’s big. Like a steam tractor and a locomotive in one. With a massive drill on the front.”

 

“How’s it moving?” Izabella craned to peer over Allison’s shoulder, and the ex-Ranger handed over her telescope.

 

“It looks like a twenty-mule team, only I’d wager those are twenty of the county’s stolen horses,” Allison said sullenly, folding her arms.

 

Zelda nodded. “So we take out their driver. Then we shoot out its mechanism before reinforcements come-”

“And take us down in a blaze of glory,” sighed Allison. “It’ll be guarded by half their men.”

 

Izabella handed the telescope over to Zelda. “Then we take it out from a distance, hawkeye,” she grinned. “Let’s ride.”

 

“Now??” Zelda barely had time to toss the telescope back to Allison before Izabella had aimed her horse, running long and low, through the shoulder-high scrub towards the machine. Allison and Zelda exchanged a look, grabbed their guns, and tore off after her.

 

 

…

 

Jacqueline and Clara continued to follow the track beaten through the hills, climbing steeper scarps with each turn. They kept to the shadows, thrown into deep relief when flashes of lightning in the distance illuminated even these distant hillsides. Jacqueline led, holding up a silent hand to stop their progress whenever she detected motion. When its source was revealed- a distant herd of pronghorn, a tumbleweed, lightning reflecting in a muddy puddle- she led on.

Jacqueline wasn’t used to calling shots for anyone but herself, and was grateful that Clara trusted her experience enough to follow her into the jaws of danger without question. That way, she could focus on the puzzle of rocks and scraggly trees ahead, pick out where a sniper might be hiding or an ambush waiting.

Clara, however, was more than just trusting. Her mind was whirling; if she was going to take Willow up on her offer, the time to act was soon. When they found the camp, she could shout and alert Kembell’s murderers to their presence, turn Jacqueline over as a hostage, offer her services to them…

Clara looked at Jacqueline’s sandstone-red jacket bobbing through the brush in front of her. They’d broken bread together for months now, had had each other’s backs in all manner of nefarious scrapes. Was a prize and immunity from whatever evil stalked New Jorvik worth betraying someone like that? Clara fidgeted nervously in her saddle, and her anxious energy telegraphed down the reins to Missy, who tossed her head and rolled her eyes. Clara forced herself to calm down; she couldn’t risk Missy’s nerves when so much was at stake.

Hearing the horse behind her prance and snort, Jacqueline pulled up short and turned around. “Everything all right back there? See anything weird?”

Clara shook her head, running a calming hand down Missy’s neck. “I think she’s picking up on my concern. I just don’t know what we’re going to find at the end of this trail.”

Jacqueline nodded. “Me neither. We need a plan.”

A light went on in Clara’s brain. “Suppose, if we’re caught, or need to trick our way into this camp, one of us pretends to be on their side. I picked up some… details listening around town I could use to convince them that I’m sympathetic. They can’t possibly have any sort of real holding facility so you’ll be able to look for evidence too. Then, once we’ve got what we want to implicate Dark Corps in Kembell’s murder, we bust our way out.”

 

Jacqueline wiped the suspicious look from her face. She’d had a back-of-the-neck feeling that Clara wasn’t revealing her full hand. But right now, she didn’t need the other outlaw knowing her suspicions; she’d have time to determine whose side Clara was really on.

 

“Sure,” she replied. “Once we catch sight of their encampment, you can bind my hands or whatever.” She turned Midnight and they trotted back uphill, towards the trail’s end.

Clara let out a sigh of relief and followed. She had some time, then, to determine whose side she was really on.

…

 

“Can’t see a damn thing for all the rain.”

Ronja and Crystal were soaked through as they plodded over hill after muddy hill, towards the eerie glow they’d noted before. Every time they crested a rise, they expected to see its source below them. Every time thus far, they’d been disappointed.

“It can’t be far now,” said Crystal through gritted teeth. Thunderhoof was navigating the muddy ground gallantly; the rain seemed to wash away the stress and heat and dirt of town. And here she was, a Bluenight, riding through the storm to rescue New Jorvik’s missing horses! The going might be tough, but she hadn’t felt this centered in a long time.

Ronja grunted in agreement. Between her washing and the torrential rain, she felt brand-new, ready for anything. She was dreaming of what she might do with any reward they’d be given for finding the lost horses- train tickets to anywhere, a PI for hire to track down her father, whoever he was-

“Whoa!” Crystal stopped Thunderhoof and held out a hand for Ronja and Night to stop. Her gesture was invisible in the gathering darkness and the downpour; if Night hadn’t sensed the sudden edge, a vertical drop of hundreds of feet down into a pit mine, they’d have gone over the edge.

Ronja leaned her forehead on Night’s mane for a second to slow her heartrate, then slowly backed him away from the edge. “Fuck’s sake,” she commented.

Crystal was speechless.

Below in the pit, a massive machine- a long sluice, a crushing mechanism, a huge furnace emitting the glow- ground away at the earth, but that wasn’t what took her breath away. The machines were just a small part of the equation. Everywhere, horses labored at millstones, under yokes in teams of twenty or forty, dragging loads of terrible purplish stone across the pit.

There were no humans to be seen.

…

 

Dorian waited with gritted teeth until his jaw ached. He watched the clouds roll in from the North. He watched the long line of riders advance upon town. The sun was blotted out; the horizon disappeared in rain and horses.

The door to the sheriff’s office flew open and Marshal Sabine strode through, followed by a woman wearing all white. Both wore looks that could kill.

“This is General Katja, who’ll be relieving you of your post,” Sabine said airily. She waved a hand towards the station’s solitary jail cell.

Dorian didn’t move.

Sabine snorted derisively. “I said _git a move on,_ cowboy.”

Dorian forced himself to move as slowly as possible as he reached across his desk for the block of smooth red-amber wood he’d been working into the shape of a wolf over the course of the last week. A small carving knife emerged from his pocket and he began to cut, marking out the ridge of wooden fur along its spine while maintaining eye contact with Sabine and Katja.

“Put that down,” Katja said flatly. “Weapons are strictly prohibited for undesirables in this town.”

Dorian kept carving. “Know what kind of wood this is?” he asked, casually.

Sabine made a sound of disbelief. “What?” snapped Katja.

“Hawthorn,” he said evenly. “Believed by the old folk to protect against storms, evil…” he went back to carving in earnest. “Not native to New Jorvik, of course, but then again none of us are.”

“Unbelievable.” Sabine made to snatch the hawthorn and the knife from his hand; Dorian was standing, knife to her throat, before she’d reached halfway across the table.

“I hate to resort to violence,” he explained, slowly walking with her backwards, away from Katja, “So I’ll make you a deal. I let my hostage go, if you give the townsfolk an hour to leave this place.”

Sabine struggled against the sheriff’s sinewy arm.

Katja tamped down a smile. “Fine,” she spat. “It’s a deal.”

…


	6. In which we are saved by the bell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In New Jorvik, Louisa, Hal, and Roo have a plan that quickly becomes dangerous. Madam Miranda and co. make a narrow escape. The influence of the mysterious metal Dark Corps has been mining overshadows our heroes, and Esmeralda and Carina witness something worrisome.

Freja was scrambling over rooftops as fast as her feet could carry her.

It was evening, but seemed like full night. The stormy sky was black as pitch and the sunset had been blotted out long ago. She paused behind a chimney, crouching low, and scanned the buildings surrounding her. A flash of movement told her that Hal had made it across the main street- somehow- and was going about his work, putting bugs in the ears of the Stockmen and landowners holed up in their flashy riverside mansions. She curled back into the shadows as a patrol of Rangers trotted past below her, then peeked out again to catch sight of someone- Louisa- emerging from an attic window, a heavy bag on her shoulder.

 

 _Perfect._ The plan was proceeding apace. By crawling through attics, leaping from gutter to gutter, and bellycrawling across rooflines, Roo, Hal, and Louisa had mustered as much of a guerrilla army as one _could_ given the circumstances. Louisa and Hal had made their way from shuttered home to shuttered home, and made their diplomatic apologies as they went. They found out who was well-armed and ready to defend New Jorvik, and who needed weapons and supplies. Roo came after them, distributing weaponry as needed.

“Just call me _Roobin_ Hood,” she’d deadpanned as she collected a rucksack full of rifles from Willow’s private armory in the basement of the general store. Willow, to her credit, had laughed. Why Willow, who kept her prim mitts off all gunnery, had such a large stash was beyond Roo, but she had bigger things to occupy her thoughts as she crawled back up onto the roof, lugging a perilously heavy pack. She’d deliver these down the chimneys of the Hightowers and the Moonrivers, neither of whom were the type to stockpile weapons. Roo exited through the attic window, leapt to the next roof, lay prone behind its chimney, then-

Roo felt a sharp pain jet up her leg. Her first thought was that she’d been shot. Ironic, she thought, as she clutched the rifles against the next wave of agony. She hazarded a glance down.

A sizzle of hot purple electricity crackled along her left shin. Her left foot was coated in a shining purple substance.

“What the hell-?” But she could feel another spasm building. She glanced down the street; a patrol of Dark Corps goons was ambling this way. Soon, if one of them looked up, they just might catch sight of her immobile on the roof, a fish in a very high barrel.

Roo caught sight of a window, propped ajar, in a gable just below her. She used every ounce of discipline built in labouring in front of a hot forge day in and day out to launch herself through with a clatter that was drowned by thunder.

She landed in a heap in a small, dingy room, lit only by a guttering candle. In front of her face: feet. Small feet, in polished boots.

_No._

“Frej- I mean, Roo?” asked Linda Chandler.

…

Hal swung himself into the New Jorvik Reformed Aideenist church’s belfry and took a moment to take in the view.

The town was oddly dark, oddly silent. The hoofbeats and footsteps of Dark Corps and Ranger patrols echoed dimly from below, but the darkened windows kept them hidden from Hal’s vantage point.

He took a deep breath of storm-scented air. He knew it wasn’t overly prudent to be up this high in the lightning storm, but the clouds and their issue had seemed to stall just North of town. The rain had momentarily abated, and he felt alive. Usually, Hal avoided town like  an unpleasant cold, if not the plague; he preferred the wilderness and the order the fences of his ranch brought to it. But tonight? New Jorvik _was_ the wilderness.

Hal pulled a scrap of notepaper from his pocket. He’d taken some notes to compare with Roo and Louisa- six guns in the Silverglade safe, Jarlassons well supplied, the Varanger clan was more than ready for anything. He’d been sticking to the reputable houses on the river side of town, where his last name and involvement with the Stockmen’s Association opened doors and windows for him, but he knew Louisa and Roo would need help covering the rest of town. He was about to move along when something caught his eye.

Down behind the Calico, under cover of darkness, a wagon had pulled up. Hal’s heart leapt into his throat, but settled when he recognized the form of Jamie Applesky, blacksmith, leap from the buckboard. Hal couldn’t see the door opening, but when someone lit a low-trimmed lantern a whole swarm of people were clustered at the door. He caught a momentary glimmer of Madam Miranda’s ruby earbobs, saw the swishing skirts of some of the stronger women passing long, heavy parcels out from a cellar door into the back of the wagon.

At first, he thought that they too were dealing in bundles of arms. But no, these bundles were too big. _Rugs?_ Then he realized: people. Somehow, the Calico girls were taking out Dark Corps’ people, one by one, and carrying them out of town unconscious in a wagon. Hal smiled in approval.

 

 _Shit._ Movement at the corner of his vision turned his attention to a sidestreet, where a combined group of Rangers and goons were silently making their way through the shadows on foot. _So we aren’t the only ones skulking about,_ Hal thought, pressing his spine to the wall. The patrol was headed towards the Calico.

The night was still, silent. A shot, a shout, even a hissed warning would alert everyone below to his location, his probable cause for being there, and the goings on down behind the boarding house. Hal had twenty seconds to act before Jamie and the Calico girls were discovered.

 _Think._ If he were out in the mountains, he’d throw a rock, make an echo, scare up a flock of quail, create a distraction. Up here, well; he cast a sidelong glance at the church bell, his one and only tool short of actually firing a shot.

There was nowhere to run from here. He’d be giving himself away. Hal crossed to the bell, seized the clapper, and swung it as hard as he could.

**_Clang!_ **

He saw the members of the patrol whip around, staring at his unsheltered perch. Then one fell; a second passed, then another toppled into the road. The rest erupted in panic, scattering. The shots that had felled them had been covered by the bell, and Hal had no idea where they’d come from.

He scanned the streets wildly. Jamie was riding off at a gallop, his team’s clamor covered by the resounding ringing. The Calico girls had vanished back into their mansion, and the goon squad was creeping back to drag their injured compatriots back into the shadows. Then, Hal saw her: Louisa was kneeling, still as a statue, behind a vent in the roof of the livery stable. When she rose, shakily, he could see the smoke rising from the barrel of her gun.

…

“They’re _some_ thing all right.”

Carina passed a spyglass- hers, an antique from the old island- back to Esmeralda. They’d climbed the papery limbs of a yellow pine with the circumference of a carriage wheel and a height to touch the sky. Its delicate needles were plentiful, and the women prayed that they’d be shielded by them from any remark by Darko, Stoneground, and their entourage.

Esmeralda squinted into the glass. “They’re parts to a machine, for sure. But not made from any metal I’ve seen before.”

Her gaze focused again on the group of riders. Two of the four riders in the band were each carrying something in a sort of sling before them on their saddles. The items glinted in the eerie storm-filtered sunlight.

“They must be drill bits,” Carina reasoned. “Dark Corps has been strip and pit mining before, but clearly they’ve been escalating their operations around New Jorvik. They must need to get deeper to find whatever it is they’re after. Did Darko mention anything to that effect when he confronted the outlaws?”

Esmeralda replayed the encounter in her mind. “He mentioned a mega-machine. Could be a drill.” She went back to scrutinizing their quarries. “Wait- they’re stopping.”

Carina and Esmeralda couldn’t hear what the six men were saying, but even without the spyglass their actions spoke for themselves. One of the men with a drill-bit was listing in his saddle, and fell to the ground with a thud audible from the tree. Both county hunters winced.

Darko was gesticulating dramatically, in a manner that could only mean _hurry up!_

Nic Stoneground leapt from his saddle and pulled the drill-bit in its sling off the downed man, who lay breathing heavily in the trail. He helped the man to his feet, offering him water. Darko made more exasperated motions. Nic seemed to ignore him. When the injured man was able to stand, Nic wrestled the drill-bit up onto his horse’s back, then sprang into the saddle after it. As he fastened it around his torso, he already seemed to slouch against it, drained. Darko holstered the pistol he’d been toying with, as if he might use it to speed up the process. The small convoy started moving again.

Carina’s heart was hammering in her throat. “Whatever those bits are, they’re hurting whoever touches them,” she breathed. “Look at the rest of the riders- they’re hardly keeping their seats.”

“Easy pickins,” Esmeralda grinned wolfishly.

“I’m beginning to think that you and that redheaded lowlife have more in common than you’d think,” Carina said pointedly.

Esmeralda shrugged. “We ride through the shallows to catch up to them then find another tree. We pick off the goons, starting with the rear, and see how far Darko and Stoneground will go to protect both mechanisms. Slowed down by both, we’ll be able to ride them down easy.”

“Kill shots?” Carina asked, dubiously.

Esmeralda shook her head. “That cursed metal in the drill-bits’s made them zombies. It would be unsportsmanlike. No, I say we aim for their trigger hands.”

Carina nodded. “Fair. Now, is either of us going to pick up a drill-bit if one falls?” She waited a beat. “Because I sure as hell have better things to do with the rest of my short life than die a slow and agonizing death.”

Esmeralda shivered against her will. “I don’t like a thing about those pieces. If one falls, we leave it for the vultures.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Smells like (War's coming)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14347206) by [SwimmingTiger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwimmingTiger/pseuds/SwimmingTiger)




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